jonberger

An unknown sound at three AM
says something isn’t right.
Something strange has happened
in the middle of the night.
Something’s changed or moved
or isn’t where its s’posed to be
why do these things
always happen to me?

My house – my home’s invaded!
The shadows seem all wrong!
The verses are the chorus
are the bridges of this song!
Even this line I’m saying’s
going on too long.
It just seems to be going on
and on and on and on…

I won’t turn on the lights
since that’s just what they’d expect
but I can tell full well that all hell’s loose;
my home’s a wreck.
I can’t say what has happened,
but it’s bad I have surmised.
Like the very worst of thirteenth birthday
black cat bat surprise!

The nightmare’s here on my street.
I can see it in the dark.
I can tell right now my bedroom
smells like a bathroom in the park.
Is this the witching hour
or have I missed my mark?
I don’t know what next
to expect; a wet dream or a shark?

I hear a train a coming,
it’s heading for my head.
I know that if I don’t get up
I’ll just as soon be dead
and so I jump out of my bed
and scream and rub my eyes
and turn on all the lights
and know my stoic part dies

for not one thing has altered
now that I can see the room.
Everything is normal.
Nowhere doom and gloom.
All the horror and distress
had from my house been locked.
I guess that it had all escaped
around, say, one o’clock.

The man I was four years ago
would have remembered your birthday
and have gone to Amaury’s bar mitzvah
– or at least responded to the invite –
and been at the grand opening
of the new Onion Pare Shop on 38th Street.

That guy
from four years back
would have really been concerned
about Alan’s assassination attempt
and blogged about it
on the Facebook Notes app
blasting everyone he knew
who wasn’t yet woke.

Four years ago
I would have noticed every staff change
at Mustard Hank’s
and been broken up at Estella’s farewell party
and probably would have been on crutches
after the accident on 35th.

The fours years ago version of me
was something of a douche.
Not sure that I missed him at all.
Happy birthday, though.
Hope it was swell.

We were electric.
We were fire.
There was something there,
if only for a moment,
I just know it.

Moments are like that, though.
Blink, they’re gone.

We were rock and roll.
You and me,
we died
before we got old.
Now, individually,
we live in these separate states
as separate entities
going on perfectly well.

Maybe you still have some spark
– I know I do.
It’s not the same.
It couldn’t be
without you around
to turn me on.

If the bread is moldy,
do not eat it.
If the hyena is twitchy,
do not turn your back on it.
If the girl spurns you,
do not try your luck again.
She has made her feelings known.
There is no reason
to belabor your point.

When your job offers you an extra week vacation,
take it.
When the hot dog vendor offers you free frank,
take it.
When the man says he has more guff to give,
take it.

If you face the dragon
and the dragon lets you live,
thank the fates
and leave the cavern
never to return again.
Your luck will not stand
such repeated strain.

When the sage asks for a loan
do not question the terms.
He is trustworthy.
Take him at his word
however ridiculous his request.
Just give him what he wants.
Don’t think. Do.
DO!

In the front of the old apartment,
a stairwell
and down the stairwell
a locked exit
to which I had the key.
When unlocked
a basement suite opened
eight times larger
than my apartment
including a sauna pool
and, surprisingly,
a training ninja army.
I was always surprised
in recurring dreams
why I did not remember
this key with greater frequency
and the hidden suite behind it.

In the back of the old apartment
by the window
near the bed
a beehive buzzed
with an active swarm of bees heading ever closer
to my closed window.
I had a screen
so the creatures came close
tantalizingly so
but never actually entered my domain.
The insects left an ache in my stomach
an anxiety always with me
as I worried
wondering if they’d ever be able
to reach through the screen
and take me,
make me a part of their honey hive.

I guess I was glad
the ninjas were nearby
to defend me.

The stars visible from this Bronx roof
are few and far between
but still
there are so many more
than when I grew up
in Manhattan.

Is it the borough
or time
that has made such a difference
in the night?
Does it matter?

I have a Dipper above me
guiding me free to see
a clear and cloudless sky.
I have a roof upon which I can spy
this heaven
something I’d never had access to
all those years ago
in the southern land
of Manhattan.
Looking up,
I’d say things here uptown
have been definitely looking up.

When I invited you over
to watch the final episode of Dawson’s Creek
and we ended up in bed
for a rather athletic weekend,
I can’t help but feel
that you arrived under false pretenses.

I had no idea you were familiar with Dawson’s Creek,
had already seen the finale
owned the Compleat BluRay boxed set
and had been a charter member
of the Joey Potter MySpace FanSite.

You could have told me.
I might have slept with you anyway
and probably for just as long
and as enthusiastically
but the way it played out
I feel kind of cheated
and cheap.

So thanks for that.
Want to maybe
catch up on the Screams sometime?

My therapist says I’m not crazy
which is something of a relief.
He thinks
my constant need for attention
is normal these days
as are my bursts of dance
at twenty four minutes past the hour.

The voices
may be memories from previous lives
and my racing thoughts
are just evidence of a very efficient brain.
My new therapist is very supportive
and doesn’t think
we need to maintain such an aggressive schedule anymore
so we’re down
to three times a week.

My therapist doesn’t think I’m crazy
anymore
but strangely still
insists on the armored glass between us
and has recently begun
requiring payment in advance.

Weird.

In a secluded back room
we sit drinking.
She tells tales
of embarrassing exploits
back in the day.
I’m excited to hear
of her dangerous years
but also jealous
that I seem to have missed them
and worried
that I’d be unable to handle her
at her worst
or best
depending on how you define.

She speaks of shaving frats
and stealing buses
and sneaking onto monuments
and I wonder
what she would think
of my exploits of entering the library
after hours
if I even dared to admit them.

And maybe it doesn’t matter.
Maybe the past is where it belongs
and she’s here in this bar
because that’s where she wants to be
with the people and drinks she chooses
but then she stumbles to order another round
and you realize she’s a few ahead of you
and you worry she might have to carry you home
and maybe that doesn’t matter either.

But it does.
In the morning,
it all does.

Shit goddamn.
there was never really a chance for you and me,
was there?
It was just a windy moment we had
when we were blown together,
wasn’t it?
Fuck, I was stupid.
I thought it was something real.
I thought you were someone real
or I was
or the possibility…
Fucking shit.
What was I thinking?

I wasn’t.
Something else was thinking.
The thing with the feathers
down there
that wakes with the dawn
and follows its own compass.
I followed the hoping’s thoughts
and look where it got me.
I’m an idiot
and I’m embarrassed
and you knew better
and were telling me all along
in coded language I wouldn’t hear
– the hoping wouldn’t let me –
and I should have known better
and goddammit all to shit.

…the thing with the feathers…